Destiny
by Silivren Tinu
Summary: When a cruel stroke of fate threatens to destroy all Legolas has worked and hoped for in his life, Aragorn has to find a way to offer comfort and hope in a situation that may turn out to be more difficult than any they have faced before.
1. Bad News

_**Dedication**__**:**__ In loving memory of someone whose story did not have a happy ending, but who has shown me what true friendship can mean.

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**Title: **Destiny

**Author**: Silivren Tinu

**Beta**: the wonderful Imbecamiel ((hugs))

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: When a cruel stroke of fate threatens to destroy all Legolas has worked and hoped for in his life, Aragorn has to find a way to offer comfort and hope in a situation that may turn out to be more difficult than any they have faced before. Characters: Aragorn, Legolas, Nestadren, with a short appearance from Thranduil.

**Disclaimer**: I own Nestadren, Bregir, the King's House, and the Queen's Garden (I have chosen the last two as my new residence – be warned that everyone who decides to trespass risks being attacked by fuzzy black squirrels and rabid plot bunnies :D). All other characters and places in this story belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

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o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**- Destiny -**

Chapter One: Bad News

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_"A good friend remembers what we were  
and sees what we can be."_  
Anonymous

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o

When Aragorn reined in his horse in front of the stables, he immediately spotted the elf who was already waiting for him a short distance away, leaning against the trunk of a majestic beech tree. Seeing the silver-haired healer standing there instead of Legolas made Aragorn feel even more worried than he already was – in all the years since he had befriended the elven prince, it had never been a good sign when he was greeted by Nestadren instead of his friend.

He firmly reminded himself that it was different this time. Legolas did not know he was coming, so there was a good chance he had not even heard of his arrival yet. There was no reason to believe his friend's condition had worsened since the last time he had received news, two days ago. In fact, it was much more likely there was no reason at all to be worried anymore.

Keeping those thoughts firmly in mind, the ranger dismounted. A slight rustling sound was the only warning he got before an elf clad in the greens and browns of the forest dropped down from a low-hanging branch right above him, almost succeeding in making him flinch. The ranger's sturdy gelding snorted and tossed his head, clearly showing his displeasure at being startled like that.

"Allow me to take the horse," the elf said with a slight bow, his polite words completely ruined by his cheeky grin.

"You will be the death of me one day, Bregir," Aragorn scolded half-heartedly, scowling at the slender, auburn-haired figure in front of him. "You are getting almost as bad as Legolas."

Trying to ignore the far-too-obvious amusement in the unrepentant green eyes, the ranger patted the neck of his still-agitated horse and then handed the reins over to the now openly grinning elf. "I apologize for startling your horse," Bregir said, "but you cannot blame a humble warrior for striving to follow in the shining footsteps of his prince and leader."

This time, it was Aragorn who snorted, but he also had to suppress a smile. Bregir could be a real nuisance, but if he was still able to make jokes and be his usual disrespectful self, things could not really be too bad. "Go," the elf told him, nodding in Nestadren's direction. He was still smiling, but his eyes had turned serious. "I am quite capable of apologizing to your horse and taking care of it by myself."

"Of that, I have my doubts," the ranger replied, "but fortunately my horse is quite able of defending himself if your care should not prove to be to his liking." As if to demonstrate the truthfulness of his words, the gelding chose that moment to begin tugging at the reins and pawing the ground impatiently with one hoof.

"Your lack of confidence in my abilities wounds me deeply," Bregir claimed, putting one hand over his heart, "but I will still do my best to please both you and your noble steed."

With those words, he began moving towards the stables, before the horse could start dragging him along. Aragorn looked after him for a moment, shaking his head. "Hannon le," he called and Bregir waved at him without looking back. The ranger then turned and looked at Nestadren, who had not moved during his short encounter with Bregir. The face of the healer was as inscrutable as usual, but it seemed to Aragorn that he looked tired.

Apprehension rising in him again despite all of his valiant attempts to tell himself there was no real reason to be worried, the man covered the short distance between them with several long strides, coming to stand right in front of the elf. "How is he?" he asked.

The elf's keen grey eyes met his own unwaveringly, but he did not reply for a long moment, instead studying Aragorn, who suddenly became uncomfortably aware of his travel-worn and dust-covered clothes, unkempt hair, and muddy boots. After a while Nestadren nodded, seemingly satisfied, and simply said, "It is good to see you."

"That bad?" Aragorn wanted to know, his tone half-joking, half-worried. The elf rarely missed a chance to comment on the ranger's less-than-immaculate appearance.

Straightening, Nestadren stepped away from the tree he had been leaning against and began walking slowly in the vague direction of the bridge leading across the Forest River to the Great Gates guarding the entrance to the caverns which were commonly known as Thranduil's Palace. Having no choice but to follow him, Aragorn fell into step beside the healer, accomodating his pace to the slower gait of the limping elf without conscious thought.

"There has been no change," Nestadren finally answered the ranger's initial question, choosing his words carefully. "Healing is progressing far more slowly than I expected it to. I admit it is beginning to worry me, but… there is still a good chance it will heal."

Aragorn was silent for a moment, not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed about the news. No change was better than deterioration, but he knew quite well what Nestadren's words might mean. For once, he almost wished he did not know as much about healing as he did. "I take it there is an equally good chance it will never heal completely?" he forced himself to ask, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer but knowing he needed to.

Staring straight ahead, the healer did not say anything but simply nodded. Aragorn could not blame him for not wanting to say it out loud. Nestadren was perhaps the only elf in Middle-earth who knew, from his own experience, exactly what Legolas would have to go through if the worst came to pass. For a moment, the ranger did not know how to react or what to feel. This was something he had not expected to hear, though he should have known – had known – that there was a possibility it might happen, given the severity of the injury. He had to force himself to remember that they were talking about a possibility, not a fact.

When he had recovered from his initial shock, there was only one thing he could think of to say. "Does Legolas know?"

"No, though I believe he suspects. I will not tell him before I am completely sure."

Aragorn could well imagine how painful the mere idea of having to tell Legolas that kind of news must be for the elf. He could understand Nestadren's motives, but he still would have decided differently in his place. Of course, he had never been able to keep secrets from his friend anyway. Legolas usually tended to be too perceptive for his own good. "How has he been coping?"

Nestadren sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly. Aragorn could see now that the elf really _was_ tired and very likely more worried than he wanted to admit. Being a healer himself and knowing how much Legolas meant to the older elf, the ranger was not surprised. "You know him," Nestadren said. "He does not talk much and spends more and more of his time alone. He tries to appear confident for our sake, but I believe he is scared."

"Does this mean you have already allowed him to leave the healing rooms?" Aragorn asked teasingly.

Nestadren snorted. "I could not keep him there indefinitely, tempting though it might have been. I was surprised he did not try to escape much earlier."

The two healers exchanged a glance, both well aware that a restless Legolas trying to sneak away from the healing rooms might be annoying, but far less reason to be worried than a listless, obedient one.

"And the king? How has he been dealing with all this?" Aragorn asked. Knowing how much Thranduil loved his son, the last two weeks must have seemed like a waking nightmare to him.

Nestadren shook his head slowly. "Badly," he replied. "Not that I could blame him. When I first laid eyes on Legolas after he had been carried back to the Palace, I feared… for a while I feared we were going to lose him. Now his life has been out of danger for a while, but the uncertainty still lingers. Despite my frequent attempts at reassuring them, I doubt that either father or son will find any peace until this wound has healed." He smiled wrily. "Unfortunately, no descendant of Oropher has ever been blessed with patience."

He was silent for a while, then he added, "The king has hardly left his son's side since Legolas was brought back to the Palace. He would still be hovering, if I had not told him to leave Legolas alone for a while. He is just as scared as Legolas himself, if not more so." He sighed. "The only ones who have had reason to be happy about the situation are the merchants who were here last week. Judging from how pleased they looked, I do not believe they have ever found negotiating with the King of the Woodland Realm to be as easy as this time. I hope Thranduil has not sold them the forest – I very much doubt he would have noticed."

Nestadren's words did not come as a surprise to the ranger, though he hoped the healer was exaggerating where the merchants were concerned. Though the last two weeks must have been extremely challenging for both Thranduil and Nestadren, it was a deep relief for Aragorn to know that they had been at Legolas' side the entire time. He eyed the elf who was limping at his side, not fooled for a moment by the healer's cool demeanor. "It has been a hard time for you, too," he stated, his eyes both knowing and understanding.

"Yes, it has been," Nestadren confessed after a moment. The mere fact that he was admitting such a thing told Aragorn just how difficult those weeks truly must have been for the elf.

For a while, they walked in silence. The elven healer seemed to be lost in thought, or at least not inclined to talk anymore, and Aragorn, whose thoughts and emotions were still in a tumult from what he had heard, tried to distract himself by taking a look at their surroundings. He had been too intent on their conversation to really pay attention to where they were going until now. Trees were all around them now and he could not hear the river anymore or glimpse any hint of sunlight reflecting on water, so he was quite sure they had moved away from the river and the caverns and deeper into the forest.

Now that he was paying attention, he believed he could hear a soft rustling in the branches or spot movement out of the corner of his eye from time to time, and sometimes a dark shadow would block out the muted sunlight filtering through the green canopy high above them, when they passed under one of the dwellings of the wood elves resting on the mighty, interwoven branches of old beech trees and almost invisible in the midst of the dense foliage. But those were the only signs that the forest around them was inhabited and that they were far from alone.

Just as he was about to break the silence and ask Nestadren where they were going, the trees around them and the path in front of them suddenly began to look familiar, and the ranger realized they were drawing close to a place he had come to know very well over the years, though the healer seemed to have taken a slight detour to get there. It was where Aragorn had spent most of his time whenever he visited Legolas, a place that had come to feel almost like a second home.

Unlike his father, the younger elf had never felt entirely comfortable living in caverns, however spacious and beautiful they might be. Legolas' mother had been a Silvan elf and, just like her kin, who constituted the main part of his father's subjects, the elf preferred the woods to the caverns and stayed there as often as he could.

Also, unlike most of the Sindarin elves, Legolas had grown up in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir, the Valley of the Deep Roots in the Mountains of Mirkwood, at a time when there had been no reason for the elves to hide their presence or withdraw into an easily defensible stronghold. From what Legolas had told him, Aragorn knew that his friend's childhood home had been built half on the ground, half in the fir trees that grew in that valley.

Well aware of his son's nature and preferences, Thranduil had taken care that a very similar dwelling was erected in the woods close to the caverns, where both the Sindar and the Silvan elves of the Woodland Realm had found a new home and a place of refuge, after the increasing activity of their enemy in Dol Guldur had driven them from Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir. The new house offered more than enough room for the two remaining members of the royal family, as well as for the accomodation and the reception of various guests. Due to Thranduil's insistence, there were even healing rooms.

Aragorn had often suspected that for Thranduil the house meant nothing more than a chance to be close to his son. For his part, the king seemed to feel more at home in the caverns than in the woods, though the ranger was not sure if the reason for that was that Thranduil did not want to be reminded of Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir and the happiness he had found there with his family before the death of his wife, or that he had lived with Thingol and Melian in Menegroth for a long time. The latter was something Aragorn refused to think about too often – the human mind was not made to truly understand the enormity of an elven lifespan. Whenever he tried, it gave him a headache.

He considered himself lucky that the elf he had befriended was still considered young among his people. As fascinating as it was to meet elves who had lived since the beginning of time, it also was mind-boggling. At least with Legolas, he only needed to be well-informed about the last two millennia and not the entire history of Middle-earth to be able to follow anything the elf told him about his past.

As far as the caverns were concerned, Aragorn was quite glad that he did not have to spend all his time there when he came for a visit. As magnificent as they were, being in an underground place with only one entrance, not counting the way Bilbo and the dwarves had used for their escape, tended to make him feel trapped instead of safe. The house in the woods – the King's House as it was commonly referred to by most elves, though the Prince's House would have been more accurate – was far more to his liking.

The ranger knew the path leading to the King's House by heart and he knew that they did not have much farther to go. Just around the next bend he would already be able to get the first glimpse of it. Nestadren leading him to this place must mean that Legolas was there, or rather, somewhere nearby. At that thought, the ranger had to consciously keep himself from quickening his pace.

For almost two weeks now, since Nestadren's letter had reached him, he had wanted to be at his friend's side, but since he had been unable to grow wings or shorten the distance between them, he had had to be patient while insistent worries and fears kept nagging at his heart all the time. Nestadren had done his best to keep the letter reassuring rather than alarming, but Aragorn would not have needed to be a healer to realize that Legolas was lucky to still be alive and in one piece.

Reading the message had shaken him, and even if Nestadren had not asked him to come, he would have done so as soon as possible, if only to see with his own eyes that Legolas was alright. As things were, it seemed his friend was still far from being alright. Once the ranger had entered the great forest which was now called Mirkwood, Nestadren had sent him another letter, telling him briefly what had happened in the meantime and what to expect upon his arrival. It was obvious now there had been no change for the better during the last two days it had taken him to reach his destination.

Having never been in a similar situation himself, he could only imagine how Legolas must be feeling right now. He could only hope that he would be able to provide some kind of comfort for his friend and hold on to the belief that things were going to turn out alright in the end. They finally reached the bend and Aragorn, lost in thought, had already taken three more steps before he noticed that Nestadren was no longer at his side.

Turning around with a frown, Aragorn saw that the healer had stopped and was looking at the King's House thoughtfully. Following the elf's gaze, the ranger failed to see anything out of the ordinary. He knew that this place was heavily guarded, but none of the guards had shown himself and they had never tried to stop either himself or Nestadren from visiting the King's House before.

"Forgive me," the healer's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What for?" Aragorn asked, even more confused by the elf's words than by his behaviour.

"In my haste to bring you here, I have failed to fulfil even the simplest duties of a responsible host, not to mention a healer, " Nestadren said apologetically. "You are tired and travel-worn. Perhaps you would like to rest and take some refreshment, or perhaps take a bath, before entering the lion's den."

Finally understanding what had caused the delay, the ranger relaxed somewhat. "There is nothing to forgive," he said. "Had I been in need of any of those things, I would have asked."

The healer eyed him thoughtfully. "I believe you are in need of all of those things, Ranger of the North," he stated, a hint of a smile on his face, "but I agree that there may be something you need more."

"I do not believe I would be able to find any rest now," Aragorn admitted. "Not before I have seen him."

Nestadren nodded, and Aragorn knew the healer understood. He could not help wondering when the last time Nestadren had allowed himself to rest had been. He knew from his own experience how hard it was to hold the life of one who was dear to him in his hands; and even worse than the fear of failure was the moment when there was nothing else to do anymore but to wait and hope.

Nestadren tended to approach healing the same way he would have approached a battle when he had still been a warrior. Any kind of sickness or injury was treated as if it was an enemy that had to be vanquished. It was part of what made him such a good healer, but it also meant he was likely to overstep his own limits sometimes. Aragorn was quite sure the elf must be on the brink of exhaustion by now, but he could not really blame him for it. At least where healing was concerned, the two of them were not all that different from each other.

More than once, the ranger had had every reason to be grateful for Nestadren's tenacity and skill, when the healer had saved his own life, or Legolas', or both. Whenever bad news involving some kind of injury had reached him from Mirkwood, it had been a relief for Aragorn to know that Nestadren was around to take care of things. Occasionally, when he deemed it necessary, the healer had also sent him messages, which usually did a lot to clarify things Legolas had only hinted at in his letters.

For example, when Legolas had mentioned fleetingly in a letter that he had gotten into a skirmish with some orcs and had sustained some minor scratches, the letter had been accompanied by a note from Nestadren, which had contained only four short sentences: _The young fool has gotten himself stabbed. He will be bedridden for a while, but is going to be alright. His patrol ran into an orc trap. They all got out of it alive. _Aragorn had quickly come to value a second, and far more objective, opinion about Legolas' state of health.

He never saw any necessity to tell his elven friend about Nestadren's notes and messages, especially since he had suspected for quite some time that Legolas was keeping up a correspondence with Halbarad behind his back. Until now, there had never been a situation dire enough to force Nestadren to write an entire letter or ask him to come. Aragorn had known the moment he saw the letter and the signature that the news he was about to receive would be bad.

"I still need to thank you for sending me that letter," he said, "and for all the other messages you have sent me over the years."

"Someone had to," Nestadren answered simply. "He needs a friend now, even if he is not aware of it yet."

Before Aragorn could reply, the elf started walking again, once again leaving the ranger no choice but to follow him. Accepting that the healer obviously did not believe any gratitude to be necessary, the man fixed his gaze on the King's House and watched as it grew bigger and more impressive in front of them. The dwellings of the elves in Mirkwood could not be compared to what he had seen in Lothlórien; they were far more simple and the trees they were built in or beneath would never grow as old or as big as the Mellyrn. Nonetheless, they possessed a beauty all of their own.

Even the King's House, in spite of its size, appeared to be such a natural part of the woods that it seemed more like something that had grown rather than something that had been built. There was a harmony about it that no human builder could ever hope to imitate or achieve. Aragorn was quite sure that the house was not their destination today, but he could not help admiring it once again. The houses of the wood elves had always fascinated him, since Legolas had taught him how to build a simple flet when he was still a child.

"Is he in his usual place?" he asked, having to once again fight the urge to quicken his pace.

"I believe so," Nestadren replied. "Since I allowed him to leave the healing rooms, he has spent most of his time in the Queen's Garden. As I mentioned before, he prefers to be alone these days."

Aragorn nodded. Trees were often able to give Legolas comfort when nothing else could. When he was at home or in Imladris, the elf tended to seek out the company of specific trees, often oaks, which he had known for a long time. If Legolas was in the Queen's Garden, Aragorn was fairly sure he would be able to find him.

The garden was behind the house, but Nestadren did not bother passing through the house at all and lead Aragorn to a small pathway in a hedge of thornbushes instead. He stopped just in front of the hedge, turning to face his human companion. "I believe you will find your way alone now?" he said.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, meeting the elf's gaze. "Yes, I will." After a moment, he added, "Thank you."

"You already thanked me, Ranger," the elf replied with a weary smile. "If you need me, I will be in the house."

With those words, he slowly limped away. Aragorn looked after him for a moment, hoping that there were no new patients waiting for the healer. He would have liked to tell Nestadren to go and take some rest, but he doubted he would ever dare to even try to order this elf around. Nestadren was one of the elves who always made him feel like a child again when he was in their presence, and he was quite sure that he would still feel like that when he was a very old man.

Deciding that a several millennia old elf was very well able to take care of himself, the ranger stepped through the pathway and entered the Queen's Garden.

o-o-o

The sight that awaited him on the other side of the pathway did not look in any way like the gardens in Imladris, and had nothing at all to do with the manmade gardens he had seen in Gondor. It actually looked like simply a part of the forest which, for some reason, had been surrounded by hedges of thornbushes and gnarled, unsightly trees and called a garden.

As Aragorn knew, that was not really too far from the truth. Originally, the Queen's Garden had been a large garden surrounding the home of the royal family in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir, which had been called the "Queen's Garden" because Queen Tawariël had created it and had enjoyed spending countless hours in it. The garden bordering the King's House seemed to have been added and named out of nostalgia, in spite of the fact that Legolas' mother had died long before the elves had been forced to move to the North, and had never seen nor set foot in the second garden named after her.

For the king and the prince, the Queen's Garden had become just as much a living memorial for Tawariël as a retreat and a place to rest or be alone for a while. Aragorn had always suspected that the present "garden" looked very different from its namesake in the Valley of the Deep Roots, though some of the favourite flowers of the queen had somehow been persuaded to grow in the perpetual twilight under the towering trees. There was something wild and untamed about the place that did not really fit in with the word "garden". It was something Aragorn had always liked and found intriguing about it, though he was quite aware that not many humans would have been able to appreciate that kind of beauty.

There were many paths leading through the garden, but Aragorn did not have to waste any time on wondering which of them he should take. He knew all of Legolas' favourite places and he had a very good idea where the elf might be. The ranger could not help feeling a hint of relief when the path finally led away from the thornbushes and the slightly eerie trees, which surrounded the garden and separated it from the forest outside.

Though there was not really anything malicious about the strange-looking trees, they seemed to be more alive and alert than he was comfortable with. He could have sworn that some of them had changed their position since the last time he had been here, but tried hard not to think about it. The trees always tended to remind him uncomfortably of the Old Forest. The ranger knew that the trees were guardians just as much as the elves who were positioned around the King's House. For his part, he could only hope they would never find any reason to consider _him_ as an intruder.

The path Aragorn was following wound its way through the trees right to the centre of the garden. The ranger could feel the ground under his feet ascend in a gentle slope and knew that he was getting close to his destination. Soon he caught the first glimpse of the tall oak trees standing in a circle on a low hill in the middle of the garden. Queen Tawariël had had a special liking for oak trees, and those specific trees were said to be descendants of the oak trees she had planted a long time ago in her garden in Imrath-e-Thynd-Nuir.

It was one of Aragorn's most treasured childhood memories that Legolas had once sent him an acorn and a leaf of one of those oaks as a birthday present, long before he had ever had a chance to lay eyes on this place. The acorn had been planted in the gardens of Imladris and had grown into a strong tree, which would hopefully become just as tall and impressive as the one from which it had been taken.

To the ranger, the oak trees in the Queen's Garden had always seemed to be ancient. Their sight never failed to impress him. In spite of their magnitude, there seemed to be something benevolent and comforting about them, as if Tawariël's deep love for her people and her family had somehow found a way to live on in the trees that had been so close to her heart. It was no wonder that this was the place Legolas went to most often when he was troubled. Stepping into the circle of the majestic trees, Aragorn quickly discovered it was no different today.

He immediately spotted a very familiar, golden-haired figure sitting on a bench close to one of the trees, his gaze fixed on the small glade between the oak trees. The ranger stopped, taking in the sight of his friend. There was something unusual about finding the elf sitting on a bench instead of somewhere high up in the branches of one of the trees, or at least reclining against one of the broad trunks or the mighty, winding roots. Aragorn was quite sure it would be very difficult for Legolas to try to climb any tree right now, even if he had wanted to do so, but finding him like that still felt wrong somehow.

The ranger just stood there for a while, watching his friend silently. Legolas' right arm rested loosely in his lap, but the left arm was in a sling, which was carefully fastened to his body so that the arm was completely immobilized. The elf did not move at all while Aragorn was watching, and there was a distant look in his eyes that told the ranger he was likely not really seeing anything around him, but was lost in his own thoughts. Aragorn did not get the impression that his friend's thoughts were of a pleasant nature.

Legolas' face was pale and drawn and, to Aragorn, it was obvious that he was still weakened and would have some way to go before he was fully recovered. Though his own observations only confirmed that Nestadren's worry was justified, the ranger felt something deep inside of him calm and relax now that he was finally near his friend. As deceptive as it had often proven to be, he still could not help feeling that, as long as the two of them were together, things would somehow turn out to be alright in the end.

_To be continued…_

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_**Author's Notes:** I think that's a very nice place to leave you for now – no cliffie, and some hopeful thoughts. ;-) The next chapter should be up in a week, or perhaps a bit later or earlier, depending on how cooperative or uncooperative Real Life proves to be._

_Feedback is, as always, appreciated and very welcome. :)_


	2. Cold Comfort

_**Author's Notes**__**: **__A big thank you to all of you who have read the first part of my story and especially to those who told me how __they liked it! __((huggles)) Ceberlandon, Alanic, and Calril, I'm very happy you enjoyed the first chapter of my story! Fantasy fruitloop, in case you are reading this story, I would like to let you know that your review really meant much to me. :)

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_

**Beta**: the wonderful Imbecamiel ((hugs))

**Disclaimer**: They still belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. (SIGH)

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o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**- Destiny -**

Chapter Two: Cold Comfort

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_"A good friend remembers what we were_  
_and sees what we can be."  
_Anonymous

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo-o-o-o

"You do not need to keep standing there all day." A quiet voice broke into the man's thoughts.

Aragorn smiled. He should have known better than to assume that even a weak and distracted Legolas would not notice that he was being watched, or instinctively know who was watching him. Not needing another invitation, the ranger covered the distance between them until he came to stand right beside the bench the elf was sitting on. "I was not aware you had noticed me," he confessed.

"It was my arm that was injured, not my ears," Legolas countered mildly, looking up to meet his friend's gaze. "So, who told you to come – Nestadren, or my father?"

The elf's voice was carefully neutral and there was no anger in his eyes, but his demeanor was also far from what Aragorn would call welcoming. "It was Nestadren," he replied, unfazed, "but I believe he had the king's approval."

After studying his friend's face for a moment, he added, "What I would be more interested in is knowing why _you_ did not send me a message."

"You have enough concerns already without me adding to them," Legolas murmured, lowering his gaze.

Aragorn would have had a lot of things to answer to that, but, having something more important on his mind, he refrained from making any comment on the elf's words. "Would you mind letting me take a look at your arm?" he asked instead.

Legolas hesitated, but then he shrugged – or rather, attempted a shrug that turned quickly into a wince – and nodded silently.

With a frown, Aragorn kneeled down beside his friend, studying for a moment the sling and the bandages, before he took the elf's injured left arm very carefully between his two hands. He felt Legolas tense slightly at his touch, but the elf did not move away. From his friend's initial reluctance to have his arm examined and the slightly stiff way the elf had been sitting, Aragorn was quite sure that the arm was still causing him pain and Legolas' almost unconscious reaction to the gentle touch was proving him right.

He knew being permitted to touch the arm at all was a token of Legolas' trust in him. Closing his eyes, the ranger tried to _feel_ the arm and the injury with senses more reliable than sight or touch, as Elrond had taught him to do years ago. He could immediately sense that the damage was as extensive and severe as Nestadren had told him in his letter. Muscles and tissue still seemed to vibrate from the shock and the intense pain an axe blade forcing its way with considerable force into flesh and sinews and bone had caused.

Disharmony seemed to radiate from the deep wound like red smears, sending tendrils of pain through the entire arm, but even more alarming were dark spots that seemed to be almost lifeless, like a room that had once been inhabited and filled with life and light, but was now empty and deserted. Aragorn pressed his lips together tightly. He had seen such wounds and worse during the war with the Corsairs in Gondor, and had occasionally had to treat them, but this time it was _Legolas_ who had been wounded badly and it was proving almost impossible not to think about how much pain his friend must have been in when the orc's axe had buried into his arm, and what might have happened if it had cut just a bit deeper.

Aragorn knew from Nestadren's letter that Legolas had somehow still been able to pierce the orc's throat with one of his knives before the creature had been able to land a second blow; that the other elves of the patrol had found him a short time later, lying on the ground, bleeding and half-unconscious, but still struggling weakly to rise again; and that he had been unconscious from shock and blood loss for most of the time while they carried him back to Thranduil's Caverns as fast as they could. For the last, Aragorn was grateful. At least Legolas had not had to suffer through the pain the transport would have undoubtedly caused him.

Not for the first time during the last years, the ranger wished he were able to be in several places at once. He could not help wondering if, had he been here with Legolas, he might have been able to prevent what had happened. He forced himself to shove those thoughts aside. The elves in Legolas' patrol would have given their lives for their prince and had done all they possibly could. There was no reason to believe his presence would have made any difference. Taking a deep breath and trying to relax his too-tense muscles, Aragorn concentrated on the wound again.

Now that he had calmed his emotions and thoughts, he could feel that healing was indeed already taking place. Beside the red tendrils of pain, he could sense a gentle, soothing influence that seemed as white as the bandages to him and was very slowly spreading through the almost smashed elbow and upper arm. He knew it was the result of Nestadren's healing treatments as surely as if the other healer had left a signature. Nestadren had told him all he had done, first to save the arm and then to help it mend, and Aragorn was aware that there was nothing he could do that had not already been done. Almost nothing.

Virtually effortlessly, the ranger slid into a light healing trance. His breathing evened out and he could feel the palms of his hands begin to prickle slightly, as warmth and some of his own healing power passed from them into the arm still held gently between them. He could hear Legolas breathe a sigh and feel him instinctively relax under his touch, as the warmth spreading through the injured arm relieved the insistent pain.

A short time later, Aragorn finally let go of the arm, satisfied that Nestadren had been right and that there was still reason to believe the arm would heal, given some time, and knowing that there was nothing else he could do. He opened his eyes, remaining in his kneeling position until the vague sense of disorientation, which usually followed any kind of healing trance, had abated. Then he rose slowly and sat down on the bench beside Legolas. Looking up, he noticed that his friend was watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. His features seemed to soften slightly when he met Aragorn's gaze.

"Thank you," the elf said quietly.

"I barely did anything," the ranger replied, a hint of regret in his voice.

Legolas studied him for a moment longer and then shook his head. "No one but you expects you to perform miracles, Estel," he said. "Whatever you did, it is more than enough." More gently, he added, "You cannot always keep all those you care for safe, however hard you try."

Aragorn suddenly felt very much like a young boy again, who had been begging a certain elf more than once to promise him that he would return safely whenever he had to leave Imladris to return to Mirkwood after one of his visits, terrified that his newfound friend might vanish from his life just as suddenly and irrevocably as his parents had done. Sometimes, he wondered if Legolas was actually able to read his mind. "I know," he admitted reluctantly, staring down at his hands to avoid the elf's knowing gaze. "It still does not mean I need to like it."

Looking at his hands for a while longer, the ranger could not help thinking that it was strange how some things always seemed to stay the same, regardless how many years had passed, while, on the other hand, one single moment in which an orc's axe had found its mark might be able to change one person's life and the lives of those around him forever. He still recalled clearly the last time he had met the elf. Legolas had visited him in the Angle then, where he was now living among the Dunédain when he was not away on one of his frequent short journeys.

One of the first things Legolas had done during that visit was to challenge him to a horse race, claiming that he had become far too serious and boring now that he was a chieftain and leader of men. Aragorn had found his friend incredibly annoying back then, but when Legolas was gone again he had to admit, at least to himself, that the laughter and the playfulness he had shared with the elf after Legolas had finally managed to drag him away from his duties had done him a lot of good. Now all the cheerful lightheartedness the elf had tormented him with seemed to be gone, replaced by something much darker that he did not like to see, and all because of one single moment of bad luck.

He decided it was time to find out what exactly was going on in Legolas' head, though he believed he could easily guess part of it. Without warning, he asked, "What is the real reason you did not call for me?"

Legolas sighed, and this time it was he who was unable to meet his gaze. "I already told you," he answered wearily. "Besides, there is nothing you could have done."

"Perhaps not," Aragorn conceded. "But do you really think I would not want to know when you are severely injured?"

"Perhaps this is less a matter of what you want than of what you need," Legolas returned, an unexpected trace of anger vibrating in his voice. He raised his hand when Aragorn opened his mouth to say something. "Let me finish," he asked, a bit calmer.

Aragorn closed his mouth again and Legolas went on, "There are more important things right now than worrying about my health. Our fight is becoming more and more a losing battle each day and this forest is barely a shadow of what it once was. You and Mithrandir – and, perhaps, Saruman – are our and Middle-earth's only hope now."

"'Perhaps' Saruman?" Aragorn repeated, unintentionally distracted from their original topic by the elf's strange choice of words. "Is he not still the most powerful of the Istari?"

Legolas hesitated. "Have you ever met him?"

"No," Aragorn answered regretfully. "I would have liked to, but there has never been the chance."

"I did, once, some time ago," Legolas said slowly. "I do not doubt that Saruman is powerful, more powerful actually than any being I have ever met, but he is also distant and inscrutable. Whatever he is doing and planning, he is not doing it for us, or any of the free people in Middle-earth. I think if he believed it to be necessary to sacrifice half the population of Middle-earth in order to 'save' it, he would do it without hesitation. I would not put my hope in him, or only if I had no other choice."

"I can see why such a person would not really inspire confidence," the ranger commented dryly. "And yet, it seems you want me to become like him."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it!" the elf protested.

"Is it not?" Aragorn wanted to know. "You want me to be able to concentrate on fulfilling my destiny without having to worry about something as insignificant as my best friend almost losing life and limb in an unfortunate encounter with orcs." The ranger could not help noticing how his friend paled at the "losing life and limb" part and it almost made him rue his words.

"I know you did not want me to hear about it at all," he went on after a moment. "But, Legolas… I would always prefer worrying to not knowing."

Legolas was silent for a long moment, looking down at his fully operative right hand. Finally, the hand closed into a fist and he said, "You are wrong… or at least, you are not entirely right. I _did_ want you to know. It is just… when I was feeling well enough to be able to think clearly again, it occured to me that you might have to get used to going on without me, Estel."

"You believed you would die?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

The elf smiled, but it was a joyless smile. "I have seen enough wounds like this to know what it could mean. That there was – and still is – a very real possibility that having me at your side will be a hindrance rather than a help from now on."

At last understanding what had been weighing so heavily on Legolas' mind, Aragorn did not know whether to shake his head or shake his friend instead. "Legolas, there is no way having you at my side could ever be a hindrance to me," he said gently, but firmly, leaving no doubt that he was speaking the truth.

"Do not treat me like a foolish child, Aragorn!" the elf snapped in response, and there was just as much pain as anger in his eyes. "I know there is a good chance this wound will never heal, at least not enough for me to use my arm again the way I did before. Nestadren knows that, and so do you!"

The angry sparkle in the elf's eyes vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only tiredness and a hint of despair. Tentatively, Aragorn put a hand on his friend's shoulder, half expecting it to be shrugged off. But Legolas did not move at all and, encouraged by the elf's reaction, the ranger tightened his grip to a comforting squeeze.

"There is still a good chance it will heal," he said quietly, not willing to lie to his friend but also not ready to abandon hope just yet. He could still understand Nestadren's decision not to worry Legolas prematurely, but he was not surprised to find that the younger elf had already seen right through it. The last thing Legolas needed now was to be left to his own fears. "Your arm is mending, that much I could feel. It is true that there is no guarantee that it will heal completely, but there is no sense in worrying about such a thing before there is any sign that it might happen."

Legolas was not looking at him, but his head was turned slightly towards him and Aragorn knew his friend was listening intently. "What if I cannot help worrying about it?" Legolas asked in a small voice, and Aragorn could hear the underlying fear the elf had likely not even admitted to himself until now. "What shall I do if it does not heal – if it just stays the way it is?"

"Legolas-" Aragorn began, but broke off, realizing that trying to convince Legolas once more that there was no reason to worry would be futile. Furthermore, it would also not be honest. The wound _was_ severe. Had Legolas been a man, he would either have lost his arm or it would have been completely useless for the rest of his life. Aragorn knew similar cases where even the self-healing power of elves had not been enough to overcome such an injury, one of them being Nestadren, whose leg had never healed completely from a grievous injury he had received during the battle of Dagorlad. He could not promise Legolas that this would end well, even though he still hoped it would.

"It will not stay the way it is," he said instead. "Of that much I am certain. But even if your arm does not heal, it can only change what you can do and how you do it, but never who and what you are."

Legolas reacted with a bitter laugh. "I am a warrior!" he exclaimed. "How am I supposed to use my knives or bow when I am – crippled?"

_To be continued…_

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_The next and final chapter should be up in another week or so (once again depending on Real Life's willingness to cooperate). I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :) Any thoughts you want to share by using the "Leave Review" button are very welcome. (bg)_


	3. An Elf's Destiny

_**Author's Notes**__**: **__Thank you once again to all those of you who reviewed the last chapter! ((huggles)) Calril, I'm very glad you keep enjoying the story! ;-) Sorry for being a bit late with posting this chapter – Real Life and rabid plot bunnies demanded my complete attention for a while. (g)

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**Beta**: the wonderful Imbecamiel ((hugs))

**Disclaimer**: Nope, I'm not Tolkien, they are not mine, and I'll give them all back once I'm done playing with them. (cries)

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o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**- Destiny -**

Chapter Three: An Elf's Destiny

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_"A good friend remembers what we were  
and sees what we can be."  
_Anonymous

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"You are not crippled," Aragorn replied more harshly than he intended to, "nor will I ever see you that way! You are much more than just a warrior."

"Shall I plant vegetables? Or perhaps take up healing? Or become a bard?" the elf demanded, and then shook his head. "I am sorry, Aragorn, but that is something I cannot do. I am not even sure if a one-armed farmer, healer, or bard would be of much use, and a warrior _is_ what I am, at least for as long as evil still exists in this world. I cannot imagine an existence where I would not be able to defend myself and what I hold dear anymore, would not be able to practice archery, or even to climb trees without assistance! What kind of life would that be?"

His voice failed him, and Aragorn could feel a slight tremor run through the body under his hand. In an almost unconscious response, his fingers once again tightened their grip on the elf's shoulder. "Is that what you have been thinking about all this time?"

"How could I not think about it?" Legolas replied, meeting his gaze with desperate intensity. "I do not know how or when you will fulfill your destiny, but one thing I know is that there will a battle before the end, or more likely, several. If this wound does not heal… it would mean that my place is not at your side anymore. I would become a risk and a burden for you, and nothing more."

"So that is why you did not want to tell me about your injury?" the ranger wanted to know.

"I intended to wait… until I knew if the worst would come true. I do not want to become a stumbling block in your path, Estel. I meant what I said. You _do_ have enough concerns already. Whether you and I like it or not, they are far more important than my fate, whatever it will be."

"I disagree," objected Aragorn, who had been barely able to keep himself from interrupting the elf. "Your fate is very important to me, and to your father, and to Nestadren, and to Elladan and Elrohir, and to Elrond and Glorfindel, and to Bregir, and to countless others I could name. You are no stumbling block – you are my friend, and no orc axe will ever be able to change anything about that. Even if you were not able to stand beside me in battle anymore, your support would still be invaluable to me."

He gave the shoulder under his hand a gentle shake. Legolas turned his head away and Aragorn knew his friend was fighting to regain control of his emotions. He stayed silent, waiting patiently until the elf was ready to face him again. Finally, Legolas took a deep, shaky breath and raised his head. The bitterness was gone from his face, but the despair was still there. "That may be true," he said. "But perhaps it is not enough for me."

Aragorn caught his friend's gaze and held it, not willing to allow Legolas to withdraw into himself again. "Do you know there are one-armed soldiers in Gondor?" he asked, as if in passing. "I have met several of them. As you know, humans are much more prone to losing a limb after a severe injury than elves are."

"I doubt any of them was an archer," Legolas commented dismally.

The ranger very much felt like giving him another shake. "There are other weapons to fight with," he answered, dismissing the objection. "Even if you lose most of the mobility in your arm, you will still be a more dangerous fighter than most humans."

Legolas made no comment this time, but simply listened quietly.

Deciding to take that as a sign of encouragement, Aragorn went on, "You are almost as deadly with one knife as you are with two of them. You will still be able to fight."

"Aragorn, I am an _archer_," Legolas said, speaking slowly and firmly as if to a slow-witted child.

"You could learn to handle a crossbow," the ranger suggested. He could feel the elf stiffen even before he saw the disbelief flare up in his friend's eyes.

"You want me to learn to shoot like an _orc_?" he asked. "Perhaps I should start training with dwarves, too. Who knows, an axe might be a suitable weapon for a disabled elf!"

"I do not really think so," Aragorn answered calmly, "but if you want to try it, why not?"

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "I did not get where I am now because someone pressed a bow and twin knives in my hands and told me to go and kill orcs with them. I needed _centuries_ of training to become the warrior I am. Even if I wanted to exchange my knives for something else now, I doubt you could afford to wait several centuries before you challenge Sauron!"

"I do not ask you to become an accomplished one-armed fighter by tomorrow," the ranger retorted. "But I think it would not be that much of an adjustment for you to use one long knife instead of your twin knives. I want you to at least consider that there may be no need to give up on what you are and what you want to be, even if the worst happens."

"Without being able to use a bow or at least twin knives, it would never be the same," the elf replied tonelessly. "I would not really be a warrior anymore. I would not even feel like a true wood elf anymore – how could I, if I am not able to even climb a tree?"

"As far as I have seen, most trees are perfectly willing and able to help you climb them," Aragorn asked him to consider.

Legolas said nothing and the ranger pressed his lips together tightly, wishing he knew how to get through to his stubborn friend. The elf was suffering, that much was clear, but for the first time since they had met each other Aragorn did not seem to be able to offer comfort to his friend in a way Legolas was willing to accept. He had known that this would not be easy, but he had hoped that his friendship and presence would help the elf, even if his words proved to be inadequate.

Aragorn leaned against the backrest of the bench, reluctantly taking his hand from Legolas' tense shoulder. It felt wrong somehow, as if he were cutting off the last connection he had to his friend right now. Suddenly he felt very tired and more than a little bit worried. Perhaps he really was unable to understand what Legolas was going through and what he needed. He could try to imagine how he would feel if he were in the elf's place, but the truth was, he would never know how he would react to such a cruel stroke of fate until he had lived through it.

Still, there was no way he could bring himself to simply leave it at that. Legolas needed him, even if he did not know what to do or to say. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Nestadren had been right. Maybe he should have rested before he came here. His journey _had_ been long and exhausting. Perhaps he would be able to find the right words if he could think a bit more clearly. He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had come. Any delay in seeing Legolas would have made him more worried, but certainly not more rested.

He let his gaze wander over the oak trees and the clearing in front of them as if looking for inspiration, consciously becoming aware of the beauty of the sight for the first time since he had joined Legolas on the bench. There was something peaceful about the scenery, in spite of the situation. Here, where elves still lived, the forest did not really deserve to be called "Mirkwood". Birds were still singing high up in the branches of the trees, and sunlight filtered through the foliage, making the leaves glow. Bellflowers and columbines were growing at the edge of the clearing, adding delicate touches of blue and violet to the varied shades of green all around.

Aragorn noticed that the foliage seemed to rustle softly all around them, though there was no wind, as if the trees were constantly murmuring to each other. Also, the branches of the oak next to the bench on Legolas' side seemed to hang lower and be closer to the bench than Aragorn remembered ever seing them before. Not for the first time, the ranger wished he was able to understand the voices of the trees. He wondered if they were expressing their worry, or trying to offer comfort, or perhaps both.

He cast a look at the elf at his side. Legolas had not made a sound, nor moved since their conversation had broken off, but he seemed thoughtful rather than angry and the silence between them felt less tense. Aragorn decided that he had perhaps tried all of this the wrong way. "Legolas," he began tentatively, "I _do_ know how much being an archer means to you. I probably cannot even begin to understand how hard this must be for you. I just hope you know… that I did not want to hurt you with anything I said."

"I know," Legolas replied softly. "I am sorry, Estel. I should not have snapped at you for trying to help me. I just… do not know how to deal with this. It may sound arrogant now, but I never thought something like this could happen to me."

"It does not sound arrogant," Aragorn said. "There is no way to be prepared for something like this. I do not know how to deal with it any better than you do, nor how I would react if it had happened to me."

"It would not happen to you," the elf said, and the quiet conviction in his voice surprised the ranger.

"Just let us assume for a moment that it would," Aragorn asked. "Would you truly see me as a useless cripple then, or want me to accept such a fate?"

"Of course not," Legolas replied indignantly, without thinking. "But that is different."

"Different how?"

"Because of your destiny," Legolas said, as if the answer to Aragorn's question should have been obvious. "You know I am not gifted with foresight. But even if I did not know you the way I do, I would still trust the judgement of beings as wise and experienced as Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, who both believe you will be the one who will reclaim the throne of Gondor and lead your people into battle against the Dark Lord. I do not think it possible you could end up as a useless cripple. It is not your fate."

"Then why do you think it could be _your_ fate?"

"I do not have any kind of predetermined destiny, Estel. Whatever happens to me will not change the fate of Middle-earth. It will only change the course of my own life."

"I believe your father and every elf in this kingdom might see that a bit differently," Aragorn remarked.

Legolas shrugged, but he did not meet his friend's eyes. "My death would change things for them," he said, "but I am not dead and I see no reason why I should die anytime soon, especially if I do not follow your advice and take up axe training with dwarves."

"Sometimes, my friend, you can be rather foolish," the ranger told him, unable to completely suppress a smile.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "It was not me who came up with plans like that, and frankly, I fail to see what is so amusing about it."

"I am not talking about dwarves and axes," Aragorn clarified. "I am talking about your destiny. Do you still recall what you told me about our first meeting?"

"I am an elf, Aragorn. I am not likely to forget something that happened not even a century ago."

"You said you were my friend from the moment we first met," the ranger said, ignoring his friend's interjection, "but I was only a two-year-old child then. How did you know you even wanted to be the friend of the man I was to become, or that I would want to befriend you once I was old enough to think for myself?"

Legolas was silent for a moment, his face turning thoughtful. "It was just something I knew," he finally said. "I cannot say why or how."

Aragorn nodded. "Unlike you, I do possess the gift of foresight," he said, "and one thing I have always known is that you would be at my side, whatever happened and wherever my path would lead me. You know my destiny has ever been more a burden than a blessing for me, but it has always comforted me to know that I would not have to carry that burden alone. Halbarad, my brothers, and Gandalf will be part of whatever fate awaits me; but my fate and yours are interwoven so closely that I believe you will walk with me until the very end. I do not know what your destiny is, Legolas; but I know it is inseparable from mine."

He met his friend's gaze, allowing the elf to see the sincerity in his eyes when he added, "I will need you at my side. Even if you insist on calling yourself a cripple, useless is something you will never be. Not to me."

"Estel, you cannot allow yourself to believe that," the elf whispered, barely hidden pain in his eyes. "You will need a warrior at your side and not-" His voice trailed off and he made a vague gesture in the direction of his useless arm.

"I will need _you_," Aragorn contradicted, "whatever you will or will not be at that point. For all I know, we could both end up as cripples and still not have a better or worse chance of defeating the Dark Lord than we have now, especially since I do not have the slightest idea _how_ to defeat him."

"If that is your way of motivating someone, I have to tell you that you need to work on your people skills," Legolas said. He still did not look entirely convinced, and his eyes were suspiciously bright, but a hint of a smile was playing at the corners of his mouth.

"See?" Aragorn said, smiling back at him. "I told you I need you! In case you have decided to become a bard by the time the last battle is upon us, perhaps you could write my motivating speeches for me. Or compose a inspiring marching song, or sing at the campfire and keep us all from falling into despair with the sweetness of your voice. And in case you turn out to be a poor bard, your singing will hopefully at least drive the orcs away."

Legolas looked as if he could not decide whether to swat his friend, protest, or laugh. Finally, he turned away, but the ranger had already seen the grin he was trying to hide. Aragorn could feel his own smile broadening, but, unlike his friend, he did not see any reason to hide it. Feeling that Legolas needed some time to think about what he had said, the ranger did not speak again, content to wait until his friend was ready to share his thoughts with him.

In the ensuing silence, Aragorn noticed that the rustling and murmuring of the trees had calmed down. It almost seemed to him as if they were watching, or perhaps rather listening. To his surprise, the feeling was not unpleasant. The oak trees here in the Queen's Garden _felt_ friendlier than any other trees Aragorn had ever "met" and right now they seemed to radiate approval and encouragement in their own silent way.

Eying the trunks of the oak trees around them thoughtfully, the ranger wondered idly if Gondor would accept a king who had the strange habit of listening to trees – and actually cared about what they had to say. Spotting some sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn turned his head to look closer at one of the trunks and saw a familiar-looking figure withdrawing soundlessly into the shadows beneath the low, overhanging branches. The figure paused, perhaps sensing it was being watched.

For a moment, the ranger caught a glimpse of golden hair and his eyes met the green, ageless ones of a stately elf, who would have looked very much like Legolas, had it not been for his broader shoulders and chiselled features. King Thranduil smiled and nodded at him, allowing him to see the grateful relief in his eyes, and then he was gone, melting into the shadows. Aragorn blinked. He would have been tempted to believe he had just had some kind of strange vision, if he had not been so used to seeing elves appear and disappear in and from the strangest places from one moment to the next while he was staying in this particular forest.

Besides, some of the leaves close to the place where Thranduil had been a moment ago trembled slightly, indicating that something or someone had just passed between them. Aragorn shook his head with a smile. He should have expected Thranduil to show up sooner or later. It made him wonder how long the king had been standing there and how much of their conversation he had heard.

He cast a glance at Legolas, but the elf was looking in the opposite direction and did not seem to have noticed his father's presence. Aragorn suppressed a sigh. He could only hope that the trust both the trees and the king seemed to place in him was justified. The ranger was not sure if he had been able to convince his friend. The one thing he knew for certain was that he had no intention to allow Legolas to give up on himself or to simply vanish from his life, so he would not stand in the way of his glorious destiny.

However, he was also aware that Legolas could be exceedingly stubborn, especially if he believed himself to be doing something not for his own, but for a friend's sake. What made things even more difficult was that this situation would not just go away, at least if Legolas' arm did not heal the way it should. It was something Legolas would have to learn to live with – something they _both_ would have to learn to live with. Aragorn was not under the illusion that this would be easy, but it would still be far better than losing his friend, either to death or to the misguided notion that Aragorn would be better off without him.

"You are impossible," the elf in question suddenly said, interrupting his thoughts. "You know that, don't you?"

Taken by surprise, Aragorn looked at his friend questioningly. The elf was not smiling anymore, but there was amusement in his eyes. "Why?" he wanted to know. Relieved that his friend's good mood did not seem to have changed, he suddenly could not resist teasing the elf. "Because I like your singing? I cannot really picture you as a bard, but I believe you would do well as one."

Legolas grimaced. "Could we talk about something else for a moment?"

The ranger nodded, quickly turning serious again. "You know I meant what I said before, don't you?" he enquired. "I was not just trying to comfort you."

"I know that, Estel. All that talk about crossbows and dwarves and bards was not particularly comforting, anyway." It was a feeble joke, and Legolas did not even attempt a smile. "Aragorn, I… I do not know if I can do this. I have always admired Nestadren for his courage. I cannot imagine what it must have cost him to choose to stay, instead of sail and be whole again."

"I believe the cost was not as high as you think," Aragorn remarked, thinking of the warmth and pride he had seen in Nestadren's eyes when he was looking at Legolas, or even Thranduil, and believed himself to be unobserved. As far as he knew, most of the ancient elf's family and relatives were in the Halls of Mandos now and would not be waiting for him at the shores of Valinor. It had always seemed to him Nestadren had found another family that needed him right where he was.

Legolas just looked at him, and Aragorn read in the elf's eyes what his friend did not want or could not bring himself to say. He was scared. The ranger could not blame him. He would have been scared, too. This was a foe you could not fight. You could only wait and hope and, if all hope failed, learn to live with what seemed unacceptable. Instinctively, he put one hand on the elf's arm, a silent promise that they were in this together.

"Let us walk this path step by step," he said. "It is too early to worry about things that may not even happen. But if the worst comes to pass, I do not want you to lose hope. There will always be a place for you here, and there will always be a place for you at my side. I have always treasured your abilities, Legolas, but you are not my friend because you are one of the best archers in Middle-earth. It would not have made any difference to me if you had been a shoemaker."

The elf could not stifle a laugh at that, though Aragorn did not miss the fact that it was slightly shaky. A bit more softly, he added, "And if all of that is not enough, there is also a place for you beyond the sea." The last was something he did not even want to think about, but he wanted Legolas to feel free to make that choice, if it became necessary. Anything else would not have been fair towards his friend.

Legolas looked at him intently for a long moment, as if trying to see straight into his soul. Aragorn did not look away, though the intensity of the gaze made him feel like squirming under the close scrutiny. Growing up in an elven household had made him able to withstand such a gaze, but he doubted he would ever be able to get used to it completely. Finally, the elf lowered his gaze, seemingly having found whatever he had been searching for, and the ranger had to suppress a sigh of relief.

"It seems to me," Legolas said, his voice gentle, "that I am not the only one who can be rather foolish sometimes." Leaving Aragorn no chance to say anything to that, he went on, "I think it would be a good idea if I learned how to use a crossbow. Just in case."

Aragorn stared at him, not sure he had heard right. "Are you sure?"

"There may be other places that would welcome me," the elf answered with a soft smile, looking directly into his friend's eyes, "but there is only one place where I want to be."

Feeling as if a heavy weight had just been taken from his heart, Aragorn felt an answering smile spreading on his face. For once, he found himself unable to think of any words to say, but he knew the elf would read the silent gratitude in his eyes.

"Besides, it would be interesting to beat the orcs with their own weapons for a change," Legolas added thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I have no doubt you will prove to be very efficient at it," the ranger said, his smile widening into a smirk. Perhaps the battle might not be won yet, but he was beginning to think they had won the first fight. Suddenly, he became very aware of how tired, hungry, and dirty he felt. "Now that we have settled that question, I think I could really do with a bath, something to eat, and a bed – not necessarily in that sequence."

This time Legolas did laugh. "That you could," he affirmed, smirking at the ranger, "and I believe the sequence is just right!"

Aragorn would have liked to elbow him, but did not dare jar the elf's injured arm, so he settled for a glower. He made to stand, but found one of his hands seized before he was able to rise from the bench. He looked at Legolas questioningly. The elf squeezed his fingers tightly. "Thank you," he said softly.

"Life would be entirely too boring without you at my side," Aragorn stated, turning his fingers in the elf's grip to be able to return the pressure. "I am beginning to think the Valar must have sent you to annoy me."

Legolas grinned. "It is good to know I have a destiny after all!" With these words, he let go of the ranger's hand and stood, smiling down at his friend. "I thought you wanted to get a bath?"

Shaking his head, the ranger arose. "I can find my way without you, Elf."

"I am not so sure of that, Ranger. It seems you do not find your way to a bath too often. You seem to be quite good at finding dust, though. And mud."

Following his friend back to the same path he had come from a while ago, Aragorn was beginning to wonder why he had ever thought having Legolas back to being his usual annoying self would be something good. "_They_ find _me_," he countered. "Besides, it is perfectly natural to be dusty after a long journey!"

"It is," the elf agreed, "for a ranger."

Having just walked right into the low-hanging branch of a tree, because he had been paying more attention to impertinent elves than to his surroundings, Aragorn was momentarily unable to come up with any kind of intelligible answer. When he had freed himself from the tree's clutches, he saw that Legolas was already several steps ahead. Of course the same branch that had ensnared the ranger had caused no problems for the wood elf. Brushing two leaves from his shoulders and pulling a small twig out of his hair, Aragorn looked back at the clearing and the ring of oak trees behind them.

The clearing lay now bathed in sunlight streaming in through a gap in the foliage above. Some of the leaves were moving lazily in a light breeze, but otherwise there was no suspicious movement and no sound. If the trees had ever murmured, they were silent now. Aragorn started to turn away when a deep feeling of contentment that was not his own washed over him and he felt the branch he had just freed himself from nudge him from behind, tousling his hair.

Spinning around and hastily stepping aside, the ranger stared first at the branch and then at the oak it belonged to unbelievingly. Both looked quite ordinary and innocent. Deciding – or rather, hoping –that he was imagining things, Aragorn still gave the branch a wide berth and stepped back onto the path he had been following, moving backwards for a couple of steps to avoid letting the branch out of his sight.

"The baths are this way," a merry voice called from somewhere in front of him, "if you do not prefer to go all the way back to the caverns, that is."

Deciding that being teased by a wood elf was still preferrable to being hugged by a tree, Aragorn hastily quickened his steps to catch up to his friend. Behind him, the low-hanging branch shuddered slightly and then moved leisurely back into its previous position a good bit higher above the ground, without even so much as a creaking of wood or a rustling of leaves.

- The End -

* * *

_As some of you may have guessed from the dedication, this story was inspired by Real Life events, which were a lot more tragic and sad than I wanted this story to be, but also gave me the chance to witness an amazing friendship between two women, one of which lost both of her legs due to an accident. Their story ended this year, with the death of one of them, but their friendship still lives on._

_Where Aragorn and Legolas' story is concerned, I wanted it to have an open ending. The way things are, you can feel free to imagine the ending you want to have (though, if you want to see the story canon-verse, there is only one ending it could have).  
_

_Feedback is, as always, very welcome. :)_


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